


of viera and dreams

by 님 (nymmiah)



Series: cunicular hope [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Male Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Polyamory, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26514682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymmiah/pseuds/%EB%8B%98
Summary: The Warrior had quietly confessed, offhandedly, had he had been a father many times over, but that he could remember not a thing about his family. Haurchefant, however, feels the need to bring back a fragment of the Warrior's past.A spin-off of "blessed be in halone's grace".
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Series: cunicular hope [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831447
Comments: 22
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abyss1826](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abyss1826/gifts).



> I entirely blame this on abyss1826 for leaving these comments:
> 
> "The spirits/elementals finding one of his daughters as an adventurer the way Yshtolas sister helped them find her like some sort of ye olde fantasy paternity test that he doesn't know he's taking"
> 
> AND 
> 
> "Haurchefant picking of Aymeric and spinning him around because THIS MAKES THEM. D A D S, AYMERIC!!! THEY'RE DADS NOW!!!!!  
> While Aymeric is just like: she's an adult I don't think she needs any parenting-"
> 
> I've written nearly 4000 words in two hours and it's 2:42am now.

Haurchefant’s curiosity, once piqued, was insatiable and tenacious beyond any realm of understanding.

When the viera had mentioned quietly his belief that he was a father--mayhap even a multitude of times over--and that he had not a remembrance of his children nor any past lovers… well, Haurchefant could resist not this challenge at seeking out the viera’s family on his behalf. Family was important, after all. Haurchefant could not imagine the depth of the viera’s feelings concerning the matter of his missing family, and the uncertainty of knowing whether or not they were even alive.

Solely by the grace of Halone had he been able to undertake this monumental task. His father had allowed him to take leave of his duties indefinitely, ceding his position onto Emmanellain, who had taken the task with remarkable aplomb… though upon careful thought, it had most likely been linked with the fact that Lady Laniaitte d'Haillenarte had expressed her well-wishes upon his new position and that he would see to his duties _diligently_.

Regardless of what it was, Emmanellain’s surprising responsibility had allowed him to leave Eorzea entirely--and displace himself to Othard, that exotic Far East where the viera’s native Golmore was located. Haurchefant believed himself to be a man of great adaptability and resourcefulness, and he believed that his ability to navigate himself so well despite having never travelled so far from Coerthas bespoke of said traits.

Othard was abundant with fascinating sights and even more fascinating smells--and how Haurchefant had enjoyed himself as he assayed every manner of food he had encountered! The people he met were equally as fascinating, with their features so different to what he was used to back at Eorzea, and with races that he had never yet before met.

The Namazu, in particular, had shocked him when he had first encountered them in Hingashi while on his way to Dalmasca.

When he had finally arrived in Dalmasca, it was not the wartorn and oppressed country he had thought it would be. Rather the opposite. Despite its history of repeatedly crushed rebellions, Dalmasca was _vibrant_. Its port cities burst with colours of every possible shade, and they flourished with trade and people alike. He watched in fascination as hyur, viera and a variety of races unknown to him bustled through its markets, and coin exchanged hands as freely as water flowed through streams.

However, with the eye of Garlean military upon all foreigners who entered, Haurchefant had had to temper his curiosity and behave as any travelling merchant would.

Trading Eorzean goods had given him reason to come to Dalmasca. However, when he had arrived, he had had utterly no idea how he would begin even locating the viera’s lost family.

He could not simply make his way to Golmore Jungle and talk his way into its hidden depths. Aymeric had warned him profusely, though unknowing to his plans, of the dangers of entering the viera’s native homelands. They were territorial, and guarded their lands jealously--and trespassers tended not to return whole, nevertheless _alive_.

Thus, Haurchefant had had to begin his search quietly, asking around and learning more of the viera that lived within the cities of Dalmasca rather than the jungle. And he had learnt _so much_ about their peoples, things that the Warrior had not been able to tell him for virtue of his amnesia.

Firstly, he had learnt of the frankly astonishing practice in Dalmasca of _buying time_ with viera. Once he had gotten over his horror at this errant form of prostitution, he had swiftly taken advantage of this to learn more of the viera.

Acquainting himself with a rather pleasant woman named Petra who had smiled winsomely at him when he had expressed his interest in her race, he had learnt of their societies, of the duties that the viera had to their forest. He had learnt that wood-warders was the title bestowed upon their solitary men, men who had mastered all the history and skills of their people, and who were allowed to take on youthful boys as students.

And when she had asked him in turn of the reason for his interest, she had stilled, staring at him with surprise as he described the Warrior to her, his amnesia--and of his own quest to find the Warrior’s brethren on his behalf.

“The lost wood-warder,” she had murmured softly. “It is not unheard of for women to leave the Jungle for the city--I would not be here otherwise… but never before had a man, matured and master, departed from his lands. It had caused quite the stir among his favoured clan when it became known that he had left Othard altogether.”

Haurchefant had brightened here, spurred on by Petra’s knowledge of his lover. “Do you know the reason for which he left?” He had asked her.

The proud viera had shaken her head. “I had left the Jungle ere this had occurred. I know this more from the words of his daughters--many of whom had left the Jungle themselves.” A smile had appeared upon her lips, wry and mirthful all in one. “Mayhap his wanderlust was shared through his seed.”

Haurchefant had fallen silent here, and wondered at whether he could impose upon her to ask her if she would acquaint him with one of these daughters.

However, Petra had looked up at him with her sly eyes, and she had smiled all the wider. “--Meet me here again,” she had stated, “in three days. I shall enquire the few daughters of his that I know, to see if they would be willing to go with you to Eorzea.”

Haurchefant had blinked at her in surprise. “Would you--? Would they not fear at travelling with a stranger? Let alone a man?”

Oh, how Petra had roared with laughter at his words.

“--If you are able to overpower a viera huntress, then would you be a warrior among warriors!” She had exclaimed, eyes bright with mirth. “The prowess of your wood-warder is matched by all of our women. Let not our forms and gender deceive you; you would be hard-pressed indeed to defeat any one of us, let alone three.”

Three? Haurchefant had wondered in delight at the possibility of bringing back home _three_ of the Warrior’s daughters.

Promptly, he had beamed back at the grinning Petra. “In that case, I thank you a hundred times over, my friend! Let us reconvene in three days!”

And so, three days had passed, and Haurchefant whittled away at the bells with trading his Eorzean goods and meeting other locals, delighting himself with the history of this occupied land.

All the while, his mind had burgeoned copious dreams and wonderings at the Warrior’s children. What would they be like? Would they favour the bow as he did? Would they have his colouring or his eyes? It had been… surprisingly intense, the anxiousness and anticipation that he had felt at the time.

Nervousness had left him most energetic and eager to meet them.

And when the appointed time had come, he met Petra with a bright smile, and an even brighter hope bubbling within his chest--for accompanying her was a viera with his Warrior’s crystalline eyes, her long tumble of hair aflamed red.

With his Warrior’s countenance, she stared at him, her eyes roving his features from his head to his feet. Had he not been so accustomed to so blank a stare, he would have surely been intimidated by her presence alone.

Her name, he had learnt, was Astridur.

* * *

Altogether, his journey had spanned just over nine moons.

Never had he been so far from Coerthas, nor had he ever been so far from all that he had known for so long. He returned to Eorzea with triumph beating within his chest and far too much yearning to see his loved ones once more. The infrequent letters he had been able to exchange had hardly been enough to satiate that quiet and mostly unknown loneliness that had grown within him in this period.

The ship they took from Dalmasca to La Noscea took two weeks, storms wreaking havoc upon their journey and extending it by two nights. Through it all, Astridur had slowly began to open up to him, her features no longer closed off as she spoke with him about her history.

She had been born within the depths of Golmore Jungle. In fact, she had been one of the last of her father’s kits, she had confessed quietly. The stigma of being born the child of one who had betrayed their secret code had eventually driven her out of her clan and into the city, where she had been determined to redefine herself. She had joined the city guards for want of coin, and there she had stayed until Petra had found her and led her to Haurchefant.

She was a woman who had not a direction in mind for her life, and she had quietly admitted that she hoped that meeting her father would aid her in finding her path. That she would find her reason for leaving the Jungle beyond the need to escape the confines of the Jungle.

Haurchefant had wished her the very best, and extended an offer of hospitality as he had to her father so long ago. An offer of friendship and stewardship, should she ever wish it. Astridur had fallen silent then, and looked away. Her profile, in that moment, had been strikingly similar to the Warrior’s.

The balmy weather of La Noscea greeted him with a hearty embrace, and though sweat poured from his skin and he laughed joyously at Astridur’s pout at the heat--

He wished to see his father and his brothers, the chocobos at Camp Dragonhead; he wished to see Francel and beautiful icy Ishgard; he wished to see Aymeric and the Warrior once more. He wished to be home, and to embrace them within his arms.

Thus, he lingered not in beautiful La Noscea, though he had once yearned to explore its every ilm, and had brought them to Ishgard promptly.

The airship to Gridania had been infuriatingly slow, and securing their passage to Coerthas even moreso--but mayhap Haurchefant’s perspective of this time was much warped by his burning need to return to his home.

Through it all, Astridur followed him hesitantly, her head and body eventually shrouded by innumerable layers of coats and leathers to stay the cold from herself. She had not inherited her father’s resilience to temperature, and she shivered miserably in Coerthas’ wintry grip.

Within the carriage that would bring them to Ishgard, she had quietly asked him about her father in that soft and scared voice so characteristic of children who had never known their parents’ love. For all his impatience, he could not turn her fears away.

And so, in the time that it took for them to reach the gates of Ishgard, he spoke of the Warrior and his many deeds, of his proud gaze and his even prouder being. He spoke of his kindness and his might, of his clumsy gentleness with those he cared for--

And he saw how Astridur’s eyes shone with unspoken hope.

It was both this and his yearning that had him behave most recklessly. Regardless of whether she had the permissions to enter the city, he passed them through the frozen iron gates.

Near-running from the swiftness of his pace, he made his way to the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly, where surely Aymeric would be found. Astridur matched his pace faithfully, and he could see how she looked around at Ishgard’s towering spires in awe--but he could stop not to allow her to view Ishgard in her full glory, for Aymeric stood at the heart of the Congregation, and he was utterly magnificent to behold.

It would be embarrassing to recount in later times how Haurchefant had burst into tears upon seeing Aymeric smile at him--but could he be faulted for the sheer relief that he had felt upon seeing his love after such a long period apart?

Aymeric had swept him up into his office promptly when he had begun to weep, and they had sat together for quite some time.

“Oh, Haurchefant… I’ve missed you so,” Aymeric’s quiet voice came, and it summoned more tears to join their brethren.

Weeping hard enough that he hiccupped, Haurchefant could only nod, unable to string words together. He clasped Aymeric’s hand tightly, and raised it to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

Aymeric was kind enough to not comment upon the fluids that subsequently soaked the back of his hand, and he was kind enough to remain close.

The warm touch of Aymeric’s hand in his hair and the gentle press of his lips to his mien was indescribably soothing. Coerthas’ cold touch could not be felt in that moment when the Lord Commander had placed his arm around his shoulders and drawn him in to hold him tightly. It had felt as if that embrace alone had been the one thing to keep the scattered pieces of his composure together.

They had sat together for quite some time indeed. It was enough time for Haurchefant to have lost track of Astridur, and once he had swept the tears from his eyes and had whispered apologies and gratitude both to Aymeric, he looked around for her.

He found her speaking with Lucia by the hearth at the foyer of the Congregation.

Astridur had her hands wrapped around a mug of what seemed to be sweetened tea, and she took hasty sips at it whenever its surface had cooled enough for her to drink. She did not seem particularly alarmed, but the occasional glances she sent at Haurchefant’s direction spoke of her quiet concern at his dramatic weeping just moment previous.

Lucia sent him a smile most secretive over the viera’s head.

“--It was a pleasure to meet you, Astridur,” Lucia remarked. “And it is good to see you again after so long, Lord Haurchefant. Mayhap we should meet up soon to talk upon your journey?”

“Of course, Lucia! It has been far too long to not have met up with such good friends.” Haurchefant agreed boisterously, smiling. With Aymeric by his side, his mood could not be greater--save for if the Warrior, too, was with them. “When you’ve finished your tea, Astridur, we shall head over to my home, the _rather_ noble House of Fortemps. I shall introduce you to my family--and mayhap the Warrior, too, will be found in Ishgard?”

Aymeric’s countenance was chagrined. “I will confess, I know not where the Warrior will be found. The last I heard of him, he had been sent off to Thanalan on a quest on behalf of the Scions. Ifrit, it seems, has been summoned once more by the amalj’aa. However, this was more than a sennight ago.”

Astridur’s expression bespoke of her feelings of being unimpressed.

“You have lost track of my father?” She asked, raising her brow. “Is this regular?”

Though visibly surprised by this information, Aymeric sent Astridur a smile. “The Warrior tends to go where he wills once his obligations have been met, so great is his wanderlust. He will eventually show up again. He always returns.” _To Ishgard_ was left unspoken. To Ishgard, where both he and Haurchefant could be found.

Haurchefant rather anticipated the Warrior’s return. He had awaited for far too long to be reacquainted with his greatest love. And Halone be willing, he would not burst into tears upon seeing the viera as he has when he saw Aymeric.

* * *

Predictably, Haurchefant had fallen into pieces once more when he had returned home and saw his father standing at the foyer, a joyous smile upon his face and his arms spread to invite him into his embrace.

Falling into Count Edmont’s arms, he weeped into the fur-lined coat upon his shoulders.

Gently did his father rub at his back and hold him close--and when was the last time he had been so demonstratively shown his father’s love for him? The last time had surely been when he was but a child, having saved Francel from his assaulters, when his father had taken hold of him tightly as if he feared that Haurchefant would disappear if he had let go.

Behind him, he could hear Astridur’s quiet laughter, but her reticence in the face of strangers left her without comment. He could also hear the approach of footsteps distantly familiar--and they soon revealed themselves to be Artoirel and Emmanellain both, for the younger of the two exclaimed his name loudly in disbelief.

“ _Haurchefant_? You’re alive!?” The insensitive boy gasped. “What happened to your face?!”

Artoirel’s unbidden snort was covered up by their father’s laughter.

“ _That_ is the first thing you’d say to your long-lost brother?” Haurchefant quipped back, walking over to grab hold of Emmanellain by his lapels and shaking him back and forth. “Where are your declarations of relief at seeing me? Answer me this, Em!”

The boy laughed aloud and grabbed his wrists, beaming up at him with that rakish grin that had allowed him to get away with far too much mischief as a younger lad. “It’s good to see you, red-eyed and teary as you are. Are you going to take back your duties? They’re _terribly_ tedious. Nine moons was nine moons too long! You couldn’t get me away from the front any faster!”

Artoirel swiftly cut in ere Haurchefant could continue to shake Emmanellain in hopes that he could somehow imbue some form of responsibility into their youngest brother.

“Haurchefant,” Artoirel intoned solemnly.

Haurchefant paused and released Emmanellain, who straightened his coat with an exaggerated huff. His brother also finally noticed Astridur, as evidenced by the way her back had straightened and her countenance immediately turned wary. The girl had fine instincts, that was for certain.

“Artoirel,” he replied just as solemnly, doing his utmost to ignore what was most definitely going to be Emmanellain’s failed attempt at making a pass at Astridur.

By the twitching of the corner of Artoirel’s lips, he, too, was doing his utmost. “It is good to see you here again. I hadn’t expected you to be gone for nine moons--but I believe I speak on behalf of us all that we would rather see you back whole and hearty, rather than see you sooner but less than hale.”

“I’m glad to be back,” Haurchefant replied, unable to suppress his grin when Emmanellain complimented Astridur on her hair--and made the rather gauche question as to whether its colouring was natural, and whether he could check.

Astridur’s response was rather predictable. As her father did before her, she sent Emmanellain a look that bespoke of how little she would enjoy his inspection, and turned on her heel to hide herself behind Haurchefant.

Emmanellain had not a single ounce of repentance nor shame in the face of Astridur’s cold rejection, and had grinned over at Haurchefant with bright eyes. “--Ah well. I have only one woman in my heart after all, and she owns me entirely!”

Artoirel let out a put-upon sigh and raised his hand to cover his eyes.

Their father, for his part, did remarkably well at pretending as if he had witnessed nothing.

* * *

“You’re surprisingly emotional, for a man,” Astridur commented quietly, when they had finally secured some manner of privacy.

Artoirel had excused himself to his room, while Emmanellain supposedly had a prior engagement with a few of his friends--no doubt to frequent the Crozier once more, now that Haurchefant was back to resume his duties at the Camp. His father, however, remained in the sitting room with them, sipping at a porcelain cup of kofi.

He smiled at the girl. “It is good to be in touch with one’s emotions, I would think.”

Astridur shrugged, and fell silent once more, looking off to the fireplace where a merry blaze licked and spat. This act was far too reminiscent of her father. Haurchefant looked down at his mug of chocolate, the ache in his heart all the more apparent now that he had been reacquainted with all but one of his many loves in his life.

“--I understand that Lady Astridur is an acquaintance you’ve met in your travels who wished to come to Eorzea to make new a life here,” his father began quietly, interrupting Haurchefant ere his melancholy could grow too great, “but I must confess a mite of curiosity…”

Astridur glanced over at Haurchefant with her crystal-green eyes, before turning to face his father. “What is it?” She asked bluntly.

“You look astonishingly similar to another viera that I’ve come to regard dearly,” his father remarked. He then smiled at her. “Am I correct in assuming that you are, in some way, related to him?”

The girl paused, hesitance evident in her countenance. She ultimately nodded. “Aye.” Naming the Warrior clearly, she then added, “He is my father.”

Count Edmont let out an ambiguous hum, but unlike Aymeric, looked not surprised in the slightest. He then smiled at Astridur, the act causing his countenance to soften and look far more akin to the gentle man that Haurchefant recalled from his youth, that man that he had looked at and with his whole heart declared as the greatest father of all.

“Then by all means--think of this house as yours. Any child of the Warrior’s is welcome among us as dear friends and family.”

House Fortemps had extended an invitation to the Scions as allies and as sponsors--but this, it seemed, was his father’s quiet way of announcing his acceptance of the Warrior as far more than that.

Haurchefant smiled, the flutter of warmth in his heart far more akin to a roaring blaze not unlike the one in the hearth at that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

In the time they awaited the return of the Warrior, Astridur had slipped into their family much like a rediscovered puzzle piece. She fit among them with a surprising ease, and she filled their home with much brightness and chatter.

She walked through the old halls of their manor, looking upon the portraits of men long-past and of their history, and she partook in it with a fervour that Haurchefant had not expected from the reticent girl. Where the Warrior cared not for history, she seemed enraptured by it.

She asked questions, a great number of them, revealing within her an inquisitive nature utterly unique to herself. She wished to know about their history, about the men upon the walls--about the script that Ishgardians used, and about the geography of Coerthas. This subsequently led to questions about the Calamity, for when Artoirel had quietly mentioned the loss of Ishgard’s verdant fields, her eyes had lit up with interest.

Artoirel seemed to find within her something akin to a kindred spirit and had thus taken her under his wing, though not solely for her inquisitive nature.

In this time, Emmanellain had befallen upon the wrong side of her tongue enough times that he no longer behaved the coquette around her, and treated her with far more respect than Haurchefant had thought possible.

As she had resulted in such a drastic change in their brother’s behaviour, Artoirel had begun to treat her far more familiarly, as if she were the sister they never had. He watched over her and spent time in her company though he had no obligation to, and for that Haurchefant was indescribably thankful. He would soon have to return to Camp Dragonhead after all--and hence rely upon missives between the Camp and Ishgard to know of the girl’s condition.

Under the aegis of House Fortemps, her new citizenship within their city had been secured, and her name now written amongst the pages of their family beside her father’s.

The flame’s brand of her hair had slowly been replaced with a frost-tipped hue--though unlike her father, the hair that grew anew was dusky pink at the roots. She had mourned terribly for her hair, the long strands replaced with drastically shorter curls, but had recovered surprisingly swiftly--swifter than Haurchefant could have estimated. Her vanity, it seemed, was no match for her immanent practicality.

She was a very practical girl indeed, caring far more for the material and the present than the immaterial and missing. For all her countenance made her look a near-mirror to her father, she was, unsurprisingly, a person unto herself. 

It was rather _refreshing_ to Haurchefant to have met someone such as her--though that mayhap was not quite the word to explain how he viewed her. She filled in a space within their family that he had never quite before thought empty, with her manner blunt and her reprimands both unambiguous and judicious.

The prospect of leaving her alone in Ishgard with his family no longer seemed so daunting.

A sennight after his return to Ishgard, he had deemed it enough time for the girl to acclimatise, and he saw it fit to return to his duties at the front. His father had seen him off back to Camp Dragonhead, and had bidden him to not worry over the girl.

In the quiet that had lingered after they had exchanged their farewells, his father had turned his head to the side, regarding Astridur where she stood awkwardly to the side as if unsure as to whether her presence was welcomed. “--I’ve always wished to have a daughter,” his father had murmured wistfully.

Haurchefant had been unable to hold back his smile, and moved forth to exchange his parting greetings with the rest of his family and young Astridur herself.

When he had extended her an invitation to the Camp, she had snorted, shaking her head. “--You could not tear me away from these walls to stay elsewhere, save for a warmer place.” However, her eyes had unerringly found his, and she had reached out to place her hand upon his forearm. “Stay safe. I need not state your importance to me now, will I?”

Within his breast beat a heart most alight with love, and he had beamed at her, expressing his own thoughts of well-wishes for her. And finally had he departed from Ishgard to return to the front.

They were never far from his mind through it all.

His father, his brothers, Francel and Astridur--and most of all, Aymeric and his Warrior.

Aymeric, with whom he had yet to speak with properly and in privacy, who no doubt reeled from the knowledge that he had returned home with their lover’s daughter. How did he feel upon this all? Haurchefant wondered. Haurchefant himself had been utterly delighted to meet her, and to make her acquaintance, but Aymeric… his mind was yet unknown to the knight.

And so, he had asked him in a letter.

In the latest of the letters he exchanged with his loved ones, Aymeric confessed to him in writing that he had not expected the girl to be so matured. Her countenance was youthful and her manner moreso, but Astridur was thirty-seven summers old, he had discovered, and rather determined to make some kind of living rather than rest upon the hospitality of the Fortemps.

Upon reading that, Haurchefant had spared a moment to marvel at her age. She was older than Aymeric! And yet, when he regarded her, she seemed much younger than himself, more akin to Emmanellain in terms of her youthfulness. Mayhap this was a product of the longer lifespan of the viera, that they would mature much slower.

He then continued to read that careful letter sent from Ishgard.

Haurchefant wondered if he had imagined the mirth in Aymeric’s letter when the Lord Commander described how the girl had somehow wrangled herself into the Temple Knights despite being neither Halonic nor trained in the sword, and that Aymeric believed that Astridur’s induction had been a plot on Lucia’s behalf. She was a competent soldier, Aymeric had found, and took upon her duties with nary a complaint.

 _Would that all of my knights have half of the diligence that she showed!_ Aymeric had written. _Though I confess, I find myself worrying about her--she seems not to have found any comradery among her platoon. Mayhap I am worrying far more than is warranted. Mayhap solitude is common among vierakind, as the Warrior himself cares not for company..._

Near the end of this letter, Aymeric had blotted out an entire paragraph such that he could read not the writing that surely lay underneath. Having never seen such self-censorship from Aymeric before, Haurchefant could only wonder greatly at what the Lord Commander had wished to share ere he decided otherwise. He would ask upon it once he had an opportunity to return to Ishgard.

Nevertheless, this was how his days were spent since his return to Ishgard.

He fell back into his duties at the front, coordinating his men to both protect Ishgard’s borders and to guide caravans to and from her gates; he sent letters to his family and Aymeric both; he awaited the Warrior impatiently, looking out into the snow-blanketed horizon for any glimpse of his love.

When the Warrior had finally returned, he stepped into Camp Dragonhead with a snowstorm raging overhead.

* * *

Unlike usual, the viera entered his office gingerly, the door cracking open enough to allow him to peek his head around to look into the room.

Haurchefant could understand his reluctance; no doubt he had been expected Emmanellain to be seated where he was instead. He laughed in delight at the wariness evident upon his Warrior’s countenance, and stood up, calling out the viera’s name with all of the love and yearning he could imbue into his voice.

The sight of that beautifully sculpted head was enough to steal his breath, as was catching sight of the gleam of his green eyes. The Warrior was a sight that he could not ever witness enough.

“Welcome back!” He cried out aloud, spreading his arms to either side of his body.

Shock stole upon the viera’s features at the sound of his voice.

The viera immediately thrust open the door and strode in, his crystalline eyes fixed to Haurchefant’s warm countenance. He stopped once he was a pace away from Haurchefant, and for a moment, there was conflict evident upon the Warrior’s features. His crystalline eyes darted from Haurchefant’s spread arms to his countenance, and back down. He seemed unsure as to whether to embrace Haurchefant, as he was so implicitly invited to, or to merely greet him by voice.

To choose comfort or to choose affection; what would the viera choose this time?

Haurchefant waited patiently, unable to hold back his fond smile. This too was, indeed, something he had missed rather fiercely.

Eventually, the Warrior seemed to unfurl, his great shoulders slumping as he moved forwards and into Haurchefant’s embrace. He tucked his countenance into the crook of Haurchefant’s neck, his arms hesitantly winding around his chest.

How could one feel such absolute peace? Surely this moment was divine-sent, that Halone Herself watched over them in that moment, for he felt a bliss that was so all-encompassing.

Haurchefant held onto the Warrior tightly, his hands making fists upon the back of his coat. And there they stood for some unknown time, holding onto one another, and just _basking_ in each other’s presence.

Nine moons was, as Emmanellain had said, nine moons too long. He could not bear to be separated from his home for so long again; so frayed had his heart become in this time apart that he doubted he could do it again for quite some time.

Mayhap the next time he ventured so far from Ishgard, he would be accompanied by the Warrior and Aymeric both; one day, when the Dragonsong War was over and they were free from their responsibilities. A distant dream, perhaps, but one that Haurchefant would cling to with ferocity.

As for now, he clung onto the Warrior fiercely, burying his face into the frost-tipped tangle of his hair and breathing in the scent of his journeys, the distant hint of char and ash, the icy bite of Coerthas’ pine-scented winds.

Finally came the sweet sound of the Warrior’s voice, and the first words that they exchanged since he had departed for Othard three seasons ago.

“Haurchefant,” the viera murmured softly. He moved back, letting him go. “I am glad to see Emmanellain is no longer here.”

The knight laughed at such words, though his heart grew warmer at the sentiment behind the statement. He reached up, and with his gloved hand, cupped the Warrior’s countenance within his palm. There was a softness within those crystalline eyes, a gentleness that he had rarely seen so evident within his love.

“I have missed you dearly,” Haurchefant replied with a smile. 

The viera lowered his chin, and hesitantly, in a clumsy motion, he kissed the palm of Haurchefant’s hand. “You have been missed here too.”

* * *

The Warrior left for Ishgard the next day, and by him accompanied Haurchefant, who would use the reason of escorting their honoured ally to return to that great city.

The Steps of Faith were swiftly climbed by virtue of their long stride and faster pace, both eager for their own reasons to return to Ishgard.

Haurchefant could not stop himself from grinning wide and proud as they passed through the Gates of Judgement, eager for the excuse to see Aymeric once more--and just as importantly, to see his Warrior's reaction to Astridur, who would surely await her first meeting with her father.

"Stop smiling." The viera's quiet rebuke was also a silent question as to the reason for Haurchefant's irrepressible joy.

"I could not. I have reunited with my great love after so long apart, and I am to rejoin with the third part of my heart soon," came his swift response. "Would you begrudge me my happiness?"

The viera shook his head, scoffing quietly. Even the pitch of his exhale was the same as that of Astridur's, Haurchefant noted with not a small amount of awe.

"You will scare off even crows with that grin," said the great archer.

"Then I should grin all the wider--and mayhap ward off heretics and Dravanians alike!"

The glance that was sent towards him was filled with a subtle form of mirth.

Haurchefant reached out and took hold of his hand, entwining their fingers together for a brief moment. He could feel how the Warrior squeezed back once, gently, before they let go of one another.

They made their way into the city proper and towards the Congregation, as they always did when they returned to Ishgard. The warmth of the foyer would surely sap the cold from his bones, just as surely as the sight of the Lord Commander would set his heart aflame.

However, Aymeric was not in sight.

Instead, stood in the centre of the room was Lucia who spoke quietly with a small company of soldiers. Among their number was what could be mistaken not for anything other than Astridur, for her proud ears stood tall over the heads of all the others.

Haurchefant could not stop his joyous smile at the sight, recalling back to Aymeric's letter which had announced her new position as a knight of their city. He could not see whether she had a sword to her side, but the long curve of her bow stood proudly above the heads of her fellow elezen and hyur.

The Warrior stopped beside him in confusion, but Haurchefant continued to move forth, waving cheekily at Lucia when she had caught sight of them.

Lucia's answering smile was demure, and she dismissed the soldiers promptly save for Astridur, who instead had turned around to face them when Lucia murmured something quiet to her.

The expectant look on Astridur’s face had been a surprise, for he had not thought she would consider them close enough to await his return. Upon her catching sight of him, the girl's countenance was instantly flush with a brightness that near ached Haurchefant's heart to see.

Was she really so happy to see him as he was to see her?

Rosy-haired and rosy-cheeked, the viera strode up to him. She stopped before him, looking at him searchingly with those crystalline eyes--and she then pulled hard at the hair that hung before his eyes.

Even as he let out a surprised yelp in pain, she snapped, "You didn't say aught of your return!"

"I--was I supposed to?" Haurchefant asked in bewilderment, backing away a few paces from Astridur, who upon second glance, was more aflame with irritation than delight at his appearance.

"I had things planned," the girl groused out, eyes narrowed upon Haurchefant. She thrust her finger at him, jabbing him hard upon his chestplate. "And you have ruined them."

Utterly flummoxed by her declaration, and yet heartened by the implications that she had awaited his return, he smiled at her brightly. "Please accept mine apologies--I never intended to inconvenience you in the slightest."

Her eyes glinted with a harsh light, and her lips curled into a sneer.

Astridur was given not the opportunity to continue expressing her irritation, for Lucia's quiet laughter grew in volume as she approached.

"I see you've found our wayward champion, Lord Haurchefant. Welcome back to Ishgard, Warrior,” Lucia greeted warmly.

Haurchefant turned to see the viera eyeing his daughter with caution evident in his gaze. When he turned to then regard Astridur, she stared back at her father with such an identical expression upon her face that Haurchefant could not stifle his laughter.

Lucia, too, seemed to find humour in their mirror images, and she hid her smile behind her hand.

The Warrior looked towards Haurchefant in silent question, though his gaze returned to his daughter, keeping her ever in his sight.

"Ah, Warrior, this charming woman here is Astridur," Haurchefant introduced with a grin. "If I recall what Aymeric said correctly, she is one of our newest knights. When I had left to travel the world, I had the fortune of meeting her in Othard. She allowed me the pleasure to be her guide to fair Eorzea, and here we are!"

The girl crossed her arms before her chest and raised her chin in a veneer of confidence. She then remarked something in a foreign language that Haurchefant could understand not, the syllables entirely unknown to his ears ere that moment.

The Warrior, however, seemed to understand her perfectly. His mien turned placid and gentle, and he replied to her hesitantly in that same tongue, lowering his head.

Haurchefant could see how Astridur's eyes had softened, and she lowered her arms, rubbing nervously at her own wrists.

The two viera seemed uncertain as to what to say now.

Thankfully, they had a saviour in the form of Lucia, the eternally diligent and competent.

"Mayhap Astridur can escort you both to the Lord Commander's office?" She suggested. "He will be gladdened to know of your health and presence here in Ishgard."

"That sounds like an excellent idea! And in the meantime, you should tell me more of your new appointment," Haurchefant exclaimed, directing his words towards the quiet Astridur. She sent one last look towards the silent Warrior behind them, before drawing in a sharp inhale as if to summon up her composure. She nodded once, and turned to Lucia.

“--Excuse us,” Astridur murmured, raising her arms to salute Lucia rather sloppily before she began to stride off, leading them down the familiar path to Aymeric’s office. Behind them, Lucia called out a farewell and surely returned to her own duties.

Haurchefant trotted after the girl, and behind him, so too followed the Warrior.

Astridur was quiet for quite some time, but she eventually began to speak, her words softly spoken. All traces of her previous ire were gone. “I did not come to Eorzea to become a kept woman, and I am used to working. Lucia suggested that I join the Temple Knights, so I did. It is not much different to my work amongst the city guards back in Dalmasca, save for the innumerable prayers that one must memorise.” She smiled faintly. “Ser Aymeric has been teaching me the sword, just as I have been teaching him the bow.”

That particular fact had not been mentioned in Aymeric’s letters. Haurchefant resolved to ask Aymeric about this once they had a moment of privacy, but the thought was soon cast aside, as Astridur continued to speak.

She swelled up with no small amount of pride, her crystalline eyes flashing. “I am the best archer in Ishgard.”

Haurchefant grinned. “Is that so? I should very much like to see your prowess for mineself. And mayhap we could conduct a friendly contest of sorts?” He glanced over at the viera behind him. “The Warrior, too, favours the bow after all. It would be interesting to see how well you would match up against him.”

The Warrior nodded once. “I mind it not.” He said quietly.

Astridur’s eyes remained bright, and Haurchefant could spy how her lips twisted into an irrepressible smile, though she quickly turned her head to hide it.

“I would like that.”

Her voice wavered ever so slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a twofer but now it’s a threefer and idk if my body can handle writing this. I love writing family dynamics so much,, give me that fluff evermore.


	3. Chapter 3

The Lord Commander’s office was a short ascent up the stairs, and there would the man be found in all of his resplendent glory. Haurchefant could hardly wait, so eager was he to see Aymeric.

Though rather oblivious to his impatience, Astridur pushed open the doors to the office without much ceremony, bustling in with a curt, “Hope you’re not busy right now, Lord Commander.”

Aymeric was sat in his office in front of a staggeringly tall pile of papers, and Haurchefant could stop not his grin at the sight of ink stains upon his fingertips and across the bridge of his nose.

There was not a doubt the Lord Commander hadn’t the slightest clue of his dishevelled appearance, for he made not an attempt to fix it. Just as doubtlessly, the sight had raised much amusement in all who had seen him ere they had arrived. It would be a harmless bit of mischief to allow it to continue.

As Haurchefant and the Warrior entered his office after the girl, Aymeric had looked up, countenance growing all the brighter with each person that passed his doors. He called them by name, and quickly bade them to sit by his desk.

Astridur remained standing, though Haurchefant swiftly took his repose upon his favoured chair. The Warrior, much more placidly, sat down beside him.

“My friends,” their love murmured, smiling at them each in turn. “It warms my heart to see you each back in Ishgard, hale and hearty. Thank you, Astridur, for showing them in.” His gaze lingered upon the Warrior, and how soft was his azure gaze! “I trust that your expeditions were met with success?” He then asked, directing his question towards the Warrior.

“Yes.” The viera replied with a shrug. One could interpret such an act as nonchalant arrogance, but the Warrior had never been one to put on such pretenses.

Aymeric’s expression softened all the more, and he lowered his eyes. “That heartens me to hear. I understand that Thanalan remains a hostile place for you, Warrior.”

At such words, the downwards twist of the Warrior’s lips was expected, as was the darkening of his countenance. Beside them, Astridur’s eyes were bright with curiosity, though she had the tact to not ask the questions that were no doubt burning within her mind.

Mayhap later Haurchefant would inform her upon the circumstances that had brought the Warrior to Ishgard--but for now, he was swift to change the subject lest the Warrior’s mood remain melancholic for any longer.

“Ser Aymeric!” He exclaimed. “You hadn’t told me that you are instructing our lady Astridur in the art of the sword. When did this begin?” He then asked.

Aymeric looked surprised by his question, but his countenance became thoughtful. “I believe it started when she expressed interest in joining the Temple Knights. As you and I know full well our knights must be versed in both bow and sword and shield.” A smile settled upon his lips. “Besides, I could hardly let you be the only one to have taught a viera how to wield a blade. Astridur has been a most excellent student; she is most decidedly a _natural_ at the sword.”

The girl’s countenance had taken on a pinkish hue at Aymeric’s words.

“It is not so different to using a knife. And I have had decades of practice,” she murmured modestly. She then paused, and turned to her father with no small amount of hesitance. “So I am to take it that you also know how to use a sword?”

“I do,” the Warrior stated. “However, I much prefer the bow.”

“As do I,” Astridur remarked, and the expression upon her countenance bespoke of the intention behind her words. “Not… that I particularly dislike the sword. I am just far more used to my arrows,” she added, looking over at Aymeric apologetically.

Haurchefant momentarily wondered how often she would be found attempting to find similarities between herself and her father. 

The viera inclined his head, a thoughtful look upon his countenance. Surprisingly, he then offered more words.. “It is more efficient to pick off the enemy from afar,” he remarked quietly. “Cleaner, too.”

“Cleaner…? Ah. Aye, I suppose it would be.” Astridur’s countenance shifted, evidently having never considered that aspect of wielding the blade. Doubtlessly, her only experiences with close-combat had been practice. “How…” she let out a soft hum, reconsidering her words briefly, “how long have you been learning?”

“... Seven seasons ago, by Eorzea’s reckoning.”

“And your teacher was Haurchefant?”

The viera nodded, belatedly adding, “I did not wish to learn. At first.”

“And why was that?” Astridur asked, coming forth towards her father with her boundless curiosity coaxing her out of her reticence.

“—He had yet to gain my trust then.” The viera glanced over at Haurchefant, and inclined his head. “I thought him loud and irritating.”

Astridur laughed, the sound boisterous and unexpected. “As did I! Not… that I mean any offense, Haurchefant,” she added, eyes wide as she looked over at him. “But you smile far too wide even at the first meeting, and it was…”

“Suspicious.” The Warrior finished, and both viera looked at one another with a growing sense of comradery between them.

Aymeric was clearly stifling his laughter at Haurchefant’s expense, but he minded not the gentle teasing, content with watching them interact.

And so, the viera and his daughter quietly spoke to one another, Astridur’s hesitant questions coaxing out hesitant answers from the Warrior. Haurchefant was reluctant to interrupt them, more than delighted to sit back and allow them this time—not when Astridur’s eyes steadily brightened with each question the Warrior answered. He could see too how the Warrior’s shoulders had relaxed and how a smile hid in the corners of his thin lips.

Did the Warrior know that he spoke with his own daughter? Or was this courtesy one born from an unspoken connection between two of the same race? Haurchefant would have to remember to introduce Astridur properly to him, to ensure that he did indeed know.

As for now—Haurchefant turned towards Aymeric, and saw how fondly he watched both the girl and her father. He had abandoned his work, buttressing his arms upon the table as he gazed at them with gentle eyes. And when he took notice of Haurchefant’s stare, how abashed he became! Averting his blue eyes, Aymeric looked most chagrined at having been caught watching the two viera.

Haurchefant bit down upon his tongue, deciding that it would not do to tease the Lord Commander for his blatant affection. It was marvelous, after all, and something to be encouraged.

He quietly stood from his seat and stole away towards Aymeric’s side. He leaned against the side of his chair, and marvelled at what a view this particular angle afforded him: the viera smiling faintly at Astridur, who grinned back at him, both framed by towering stacks of parchment.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed how the piles of parchment that stacked upon Aymeric’s table were rather organised despite their intimidating height. From his brief purview, he reckoned that on the right were papers yet to be complete, and those on the left had been reviewed—and rather expectedly for Aymeric’s work ethic, the piles on the left were greater.

“I see that your papers are as prosperous as our peoples,” Haurchefant murmured softly in a voice that was surely too quiet for either viera to hear, grinning widely at his lover. “Are we preventing you from seeing to them?”

Aymeric let out a sigh, a wry expression now seated upon his countenance. Looking up at him with those lovely eyes, the Lord Commander gestured vaguely to the side with a hand. “I could hardly turn you nor the Warrior away,” he admitted softly, words more a whisper in Haurchefant’s ear. “Nor would I wish to see to my work over you.”

The warmth that blossomed within his breast was only to be expected.

“That was not a no,” Haurchefant noted, stifling a chuckle with a raised hand to his lips.

Aymeric smiled back at him. “It was not,” he agreed. “But all of this can wait.”

How flattering it was, that he who was chosen as Lord Commander for his diligence and prudence would choose them over his work! Had Astridur not been in the room, he would have surely bestowed upon Aymeric a kiss and swept him up in an embrace that bespoke of just how moved he was.

As it was, she _was_ in the room with them, and there were therefore a multitude of reasons to stay his passion.

Firstly was propriety: Aymeric would be more than humiliated to have so exposed his relationships in such a manner. Secondly was the nature of their courtship, the secrecy that was so integral to its acceptance in Ishgard. He had not made it clear even to his own father, though the man had certainly inferred it. Thirdly, Haurchefant was unsure of how she would feel concerning their relationship—one that included her own father.

That would certainly be a conversation indeed. When one’s father had two male lovers, both of whom were younger than oneself! Had this been a relationship between races of lesser lifespan, it would have been utterly horrifying indeed.

It was then that Haurchefant noticed how the viera grimaced ever so slightly, turning his gaze towards him.

Haurchefant straightened up from where he slouched against Aymeric’s chair and regarded the two before him with curiosity.

Astridur looked towards him and Aymeric with her brows furrowed. The Warrior gestured towards Haurchefant silently, clearly encouraging Astridur to speak up.

“Your relationship with the Warrior… with my father. As discreet as you have been, I believe I am in the right to think that you are in love with him. That both of you are. Are you his mates?” Astridur asked, her manner as bold and blunt as ever as she regarded the two men before her.

Haurchefant, for his part, stared at her with his mouth agape. He looked to the side, to Aymeric who had turned entirely pale. When he then turned to the viera, he could see how the Warrior looked neither repentant nor worried.

What exactly was Haurchefant to say to that?

He desired greatly to proclaim it, but what held him back was the worry upon Aymeric’s countenance, the fear that was so stark within his eyes. What held him back was the uncertainty of Astridur’s thoughts, her feelings upon the matter. He closed his mouth, and lowered his chin to gaze into the floors below.

When neither Aymeric nor Haurchefant spoke up in response to Astridur’s damning question, it was then that the Warrior acted.

The man had crossed his arms over his chest and he nodded once, simply.

And that, apparently, was the end of that, for Astridur let out a soft hum and she crossed her arms in an unwitting imitation of her father.

“Thought so.”

* * *

Aymeric’s pallor had not faded even after Astridur’s departure from his office, citing her need to return to her post. Haurchefant watched as the Lord Commander exhaled slowly, covering his face with both of his hands, and sagged into his seat.

The viera remained seated where he was, but his eyes were averted from the sight of the Lord Commander, looking most discomfited by the obvious distress that Aymeric showed.

Though it was rather needless, Haurchefant reached out to touch their third lightly upon his shoulder and asked gently, “Are you okay?”

There was no response for quite some time from their raven-haired love. Then, the shoulder beneath his hand began to shake. And the sound of Aymeric’s breath, hitching, grew louder. He was _laughing_ , helplessly and madly, the sound utterly full of disbelief.

Haurchefant drew back, watching with no small amount of concern as the Lord Commander lowered his elbows to the table and continued to laugh into his hands, somehow projecting perfectly both divine relief and incredulity.

“Her only response _would_ be that,” Aymeric gasped out, when his laughter had petered out and his complexion had reddened with his breathlessness. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “All this time—I had _agonised_ over her reaction, had worried over her revulsion of our relationship—and all she could say was that! _Thought so!_ Smugly, as if she had learnt her manner from Emmanellain!”

Haurchefant finally smiled, and he leaned in to rub his hand along Aymeric’s back in a soothing gesture. “It was fortunate that she was not upset by the revelation,” he remarked warmly, his smiling widening when Aymeric glanced up at him with his wet eyes. “Thank Halone for that.”

“Indeed,” Aymeric agreed, reaching up to place his hand upon Haurchefant’s wrist briefly. “Praise be to the Fury for Her grace…”

“I think she may have spent far too much time in my brother’s presence, if she were to behave in such a smug manner,” Haurchefant said with a grin, pleased that Aymeric’s mood had risen and that a flush had returned once more to his countenance. “Has Artoirel not been keeping an eye on her?”

“I could not say, since I spend not much time with her outside of our duties,” Aymeric confessed, an apology tucked away within his voice. “Though I know for certain that Count Edmont and Emmanellain both have been seen often accompanying her to the Crozier…”

Finally, the viera spoke, stirring from his seated position. “She has a good head upon her shoulders. Malms better than that which rests ‘pon most of Ishgard.” The derision within his voice was conspicuous, as was the faint smile upon his lips. “Mayhap she gets it from her mother, whomever she is.”

They were all silent for a moment following that wistful comment.

“When did you know she was your daughter?” Aymeric asked the Warrior quietly, shifting forward in his seat once more. Haurchefant’s hand remained upon his back, now resting across his nape where he could rub his thumb against the sliver of exposed skin.

“She told me when we met,” he was surely referring to that brief moment of speech in what was undoubtedly the viera’s secret language, “but I knew from her countenance alone.” The viera’s expression turned contemplative, and he averted his eyes to look towards the ceiling. “... She has mine eyes.”

Aymeric then remarked. “And I daresay, she has your aptitude for the sword.”

“—And most certainly your scowl.” Haurchefant was swift to add, laughing when the viera turned that aforementioned scowl towards him.

“I will admit my surprise.” The viera then stated. He looked towards Haurchefant, the green of his crystalline eyes as piercing as the arrows he favoured. “Did you travel to Othard solely to find her?”

Haurchefant nodded. “I did. I wished to find her—or any of your daughters that were willing—to bring to Eorzea.” He paused, a hint of chagrin making itself known as he admitted, “You’ve lost much of your memories in your life. I wished… that mayhap I could return some of them to you, somehow, by bringing your family to you.”

The viera was silent, watching him with those brilliant eyes. Then, he scoffed, shaking his head. The smallest and wryest of smiles was upon his thin lips, the expression making gentle his chiselled features. “... Thank you, Haurchefant.”

“I will admit, it was not entirely selfless on my part,” Haurchefant added. “I was most curious as to what else I could uncover of your history. I found that you had been once a treasured guardian of your woods, and you had indeed come from Golmore Jungle. And most astonishingly, you have _numerous_ daughters, implied was a number far greater than ten! Mayhap it was for the best that you stayed not in Othard—remembering all of their names, nevertheless rearing them all, would most certainly be a challenge not even the primal slayer could match!”

He could see how Aymeric stifled a laugh.

The Warrior shook his head, humour colouring bright his countenance. “It was for the best that solely the one came. Ishgard could not hold more than ten viera within her walls.”

“Indeed. Astridur and yourself are quite enough to warm our households,” Aymeric replied, smiling.

The Warrior inclined his head, and peered at them both with fondness within his gaze. He then stood, walking to the desk to lean upon it, to lean closer to them.

Aymeric was clearly astonished when the viera pressed his lips to the crown of his head, and his complexion immediately took on rouge, flustered by the uncharacteristic affection.

“And thank you,” the viera murmured softly, “for accepting her in your life.”

“Of… of course. How could I not? She is your daughter; I could treat her with naught less respect than I afford Haurchefant’s family.” Aymeric stammered out, uncertainty evident in the twist of his lips. He seemed uncomfortable, as if unsure of how to respond now that the viera looked at Aymeric with no small amount of affection within his gaze.

Haurchefant marvelled then, at Aymeric’s boundless altruism, at the endless fount of love that was his heart, at the lack of jealousy that lurked within his pious heart shown by how little he cared for the proof of the viera’s past trysts. He truly was wonderful.

And it was then that he suddenly recalled a question that had burned within his mind only a bell ago. In the privacy of Aymeric’s office, Haurchefant finally asked him upon the letter that he had sent, and the paragraph so harshly censored with black ink.

“What did you write?” He asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

Aymeric parted his lips, silent for some time as he contemplated some unknown matter. “It was nothing. It was merely something terribly selfish that I had written,” he replied ambiguously. “It needs not to be said.”

And that certainly would not do!

Insistently, Haurchefant demanded, “Tell me! I would not judge you for your thoughts! And what you consider selfish, most would consider not!”

Aymeric sighed quietly in defeat, evidently having learnt to give in when Haurchefant was at his most tenacious. The viera’s mirthful sound was covered poorly by his hand, and Aymeric sent the Warrior a glance full of exasperation.

“It was an unfathomably egocentric request for you to return to Ishgard swiftly such that I could have your company once more, a request that you have fulfilled regardless,” the Lord Commander finally muttered, averting his eyes.

Surely none would find fault in Haurchefant for being inspired by these words to pull the industrious Aymeric from his seat and into his embrace and to kiss him full upon his lips.

* * *

When later Haurchefant had asked her when she had had her suspicions, Astridur had grinned at him where she stood proudly by the Gates of Judgement, standing sentry over their city.

“Did you truly expect me to believe that you would go all the way to Dalmasca for one that is solely a friend?” She had asked, raising her brow at him. “Lie to me not, Haurchefant. You might be a fool when it comes to your knightly vows, but even you would not journey so far and so long for a friend. Worry not. You need not my blessing to continue your relationship with him, and I doubt he would care for my opinion either way.”

Her smile had widened then, and her crystalline eyes gleamed with an unfamiliar mischief.

“Do not, however, expect me to call either you nor the Lord Commander father. You both are near a decade younger than I after all.”

Haurchefant had laughed at her response. “That is most fortunate,” he had replied with no small amount of mirth. “I would have been most ashamed that my daughter were near a full-head taller than I!”

He had known then, that their amicable relationship would continue: Astridur his good friend, who travelled from Dalmasca to Eorzea upon solely his word in search for her father—and that she would stay in fair Ishgard for quite some time thereafter.

Surely he was so greatly blessed by the Fury; his fortune alone could not account for the innumerably wonderful things in his life.

He thought upon the viera, and upon his dreams—and most of all, he thought upon that irresistably fantastic future that surely lay in wait before him.

He would meet the future, most certainly with the Warrior and Aymeric, with his father and brothers, and with Astridur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I,,, hope this fic ended not too abruptly.  
> I also feel like it didn’t particularly address the relationship between Astridur and the viera properly, but maybe that particular development can come in a future instalment. This ultimately became an exploration into Haurchefant rather than the viera and his daughter (lol).
> 
> Thank you for reading this! I hope you enjoyed my extremely self-indulgent minific!

**Author's Note:**

> Winks and shamelessly promotes the Azem fanzine, The Sun's Journey, that I'm modding @ [FFXIVAzemZine](https://twitter.com/FFXIVAzemZine). Applications are closed, but please await future news!
> 
> I'm also found on Twitter @ [nymmiah](https://twitter.com/nymmiah), where I occasionally upload sketches and ideas.


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